It Was a Very Bad Year (14 page)

I decided to go ahead to Frank's room and see what was happening. I'd try Jerry again.

I walked down the hall under the scrutiny of the two FBI men. I wondered how long it was going to take for the kidnappers to call Frank and make their demand. Where was Frankie being held and how was he doing? And I wondered who would be crazy enough to do this, because there was no way Frank would rest until he found them, regardless of whether or not Frankie was returned.

‘They're all in there,' one of the men said, as he opened the door for me.

‘Thanks.'

As I entered, Frank was saying, ‘. . . don't feel like it, right now.'

‘Frank,' Mickey Rudin said, ‘you've got to eat something. You're not gonna do Frankie any good if you pass out from hunger.'

Frank, still seated on the bed by the phone, said, ‘Yeah, OK. Have them bring up a table and spaghetti for four. My friends are gonna eat with me.'

‘Your friends?' Rudin asked.

‘Jack, Eddie and Jilly,' Frank said, ‘The rest of you can fend for yourselves.'

The lawyer, who probably considered himself a friend of Frank's, looked a little wounded, but he said, ‘OK, I'll take care of it.'

‘I'm going to make a few calls,' the DA said. ‘I'll check in with you later. If you get a call—'

‘Yeah, yeah,' Frank said, ‘the FBI's right outside the door. I get it.'

Raggio, Rudin and the FBI left the room. I heard Jack go to the door with them and whisper, ‘Make sure there's meatballs.'

When the door closed, Jilly asked Frank, ‘You want a drink, Frank?'

‘No, I don't want no booze,' Frank said. ‘I gotta keep a clear head.'

‘Frank, whatever they ask for,' Jack said, ‘no matter how much, the Sands will front it.'

‘I appreciate that Jack,' Frank said, ‘but I got it covered.'

‘Frank,' I said, ‘I'd like to talk to you about Jerry.'

‘Who?'

‘Jerry Epstein?'

He frowned at me, almost annoyed, then his face brightened and he said, ‘The Brooklyn kid?'

‘That's right. I think I'll need him, to back me up on this drop.'

‘No problem. Use him.'

‘I'll need to get him here – or wherever the drop is supposed to be.'

‘Once we get the call and find out, I'll have my plane pick him up. Is he ready?'

‘I just have to get him on the phone, but he'll be ready, if I know Jerry,' I said. Knowing he was going to help me
and
Frank, Jerry would walk all the way if he had to . . . barefoot.

‘OK, good,' Frank said. ‘I want you and Frankie to both walk away from this.'

That made two of us.

I excused myself to try Jerry again, said I'd be back to eat.

This time when I dialed, Jerry answered.

‘Hey, what's up, Mr G.?'

I told him about Frank Jr. being kidnapped, and that Frank asked me to make the pay-off.

‘I'll be on the first plane to Vegas—'

‘No, Jerry,' I said. ‘We're in Reno, but I don't want you to come here, either.'

‘I gotta do somethin'—'

‘And you will,' I said. ‘As soon as Frank gets the call with the kidnapper's demands, and finds out where the drop is, he'll send his plane for you. I want you to back me on the drop.'

‘You got it, Mr G.' he said. ‘Thanks for thinkin' of me.'

‘As a matter of fact,' I said, ‘I was kind of thinking of me.'

‘I getcha. Don't worry, I'll be ready to move as soon as I get the call.'

‘Thanks, Jerry,' I said. ‘I knew Frank and I could count on you.'

‘Always, Mr G. Tell Mr S. I'll see him soon.'

‘You got it.'

I hung up, thought about calling Penny in Danny's office and telling her what was going on so she could fill him in. But he was away, working another case, and I didn't want anything leaking out that shouldn't be.

I stepped out into the hall in time to see the two FBI agents frisking the bellman, who stood patiently, probably figuring his tip would make up for it. He had a table on wheels, and there were some folding chairs leaning against the wall that he had probably brought up in the elevator with him.

Finally, they opened the door and allowed the bellman to wheel the table into the room. I came down the hall and grabbed the folding chairs, carrying them in with me.

‘That's fine,' Jack Entratter said. ‘We'll take care of it.' He tipped the guy a twenty.

‘Gee, thanks,' the young man said.

Jilly walked him to the door and ushered him out.

We set the chairs up at the table, and Jack enticed Frank to leave the phone and sit at the table to eat our spaghetti and meatball lunch. Frank backed the table up so he could sit within reach of the phone. He held his fork in his right hand, and the roll of dimes in his left.

When the phone rang we all had our mouths full of pasta. Frank actually spat his out and grabbed the phone.

‘Yeah?' he said. ‘Yeah, this is him. Is my son . . . what? Wait, is that all? What about—'

Obviously, the person on the other end had hung up. Frank sat there holding the phone, staring.

‘Frank,' Jack said. No answer. He got up, walked to Frank and took the phone from him. ‘Frank? Who was it? What did they say?'

Frank shook his head, noticed us as if we had just appeared.

‘It was them. They said Frankie was OK, and they'd call me again with the amount and the location.'

‘That's it?' I asked. ‘That's all they said?'

‘No,' Frank said, ‘he said one more thing.'

‘What was it?' Jilly asked.

Frank looked at us and quoted, ‘“Discretion will be the demeanor.”'

T
he FBI had the phone tapped, but the call hadn't lasted long enough to trace. They did, however, have a tape of the conversation.

Raggio and Rudin came back into the room, leaving the FBI agents in the hall.

‘Mr Sinatra,' Raggio said, ‘you'll have to keep them on the phone longer next time so we can get a trace.'

‘Look, pally,' Frank said, ‘I don't care about any damn trace. I want my boy back. I'm gonna pay them, get him back, and then, believe me, I'll find them.'

‘Sir,' Raggio said, ‘with all due respect—'

Jack Entratter stood up, towering over the DA and the lawyer.

‘Mickey, take the gentleman outside so Frank can finish eatin'. When the phone rings again, we'll do our best.'

‘Jack—' Rudin said.

‘Mickey,' Jack said, ‘please.' Jack's tone was respectful, but the look on his face was murderous. Mickey Rudin took the hint and accompanied the DA out into the hall.

‘I didn't even get a chance to ask to talk to Frankie,' Frank said.

‘It's gonna be OK, Frank,' Jack said. ‘They're not gonna hurt Frankie. If they do, they get no money.'

‘Jack's right, Frank,' Jilly said. ‘They got to keep him healthy, in case you do ask to talk to him, or see him.'

I knew they were trying to make Frank feel better, but none of that rang true to me. They could have killed Frankie already, and still be able to collect from Frank. I was worried because these guys sounded like amateurs. For one thing, they had left a witness alive who could ID them. And they hadn't asked for money yet. It was as if they didn't know how much to ask for and were trying to figure it out.

I wasn't and never have been an expert on kidnapping, but this sounded messy to me.

‘All right,' Jack said, ‘come on, let's finish eating. You still got to keep your strength up. Next time they call they'll ask for the cash and probably tell you where to deliver it.'

Frank let himself be coaxed into returning to the food, but he mostly played with it from that point on. Actually, it wasn't very good spaghetti. It was way undercooked, and the sauce was watery. The meatballs kept falling apart. Finally we all gave up and pushed the table out into the hall. The FBI men eyed the food hungrily. I never knew if they ate the leftovers or not.

‘You guys mind givin' me some time alone?' Frank asked, sometime later.

Why not, I thought? We were just sitting around, doing nothing, anyway. We sure as hell weren't making Frank feel any better.

‘Sure, Frank,' Jack said. ‘Come on, guys.'

We left the room. The table with the remnants of our meal had been moved. Two FBI men stood there and nodded at us. I wondered what they thought they were guarding.

Jilly and Jack started down the hall to their rooms.

‘Hey Jack, I'm gonna go out for some air. I'll be back soon.'

‘Yeah, OK, kid,' he said. ‘Probably nothin' will happen for a while.'

Even if Frank did get a call about delivering the money there was probably nothing could be done till the next day, anyway.

As I waited for the elevator one of the FBI men said, ‘Might not be a good idea to go anywhere.'

‘I'll chance it,' I said. ‘I just need to stretch my legs.'

‘Suit yourself,' he said, with a shrug.

The elevator came and I took it down. In the lobby were the other two FBI men. As I passed, one of them started to speak into a small radio. As I left the hotel I noticed one of them fall into step behind me. Did they really think I was going to contact the kidnappers?

I walked along North Virginia Street past the casinos, beneath the Primadonna's five-lady marquee – not lit up, yet. Foot traffic was brisk, and the FBI man was staying close, since there was no reason for him to try and disguise the fact he was following me.

I kept going until I was passing the Cal-Neva on North Virginia and 2nd Streets. Frank had a piece of the Cal-Neva and had also gotten Dino to invest, but Dean had since sold his interest in the place.

I made a left on 2nd Street and what happened next was probably my own fault. I wasn't paying attention. Maybe I felt secure with an FBI man on my tail, but when a pair of strong hands grabbed me and pulled me into an alley I felt anything but secure.

T
hey dragged me further into the alley. I struggled but they were two big guys – almost as big as Jerry – and they had a tight hold on me.

Finally, they released me, tossing me against a brick wall. I bounced, but managed to avoid any serious damage – for the time being.

‘What the hell!' I said, straightening my jacket. ‘What is this, a hold-up?'

‘Yeah, a hold-up,' one of them said, pointing to the other one, ‘he's gonna hold you up while I beat you senseless.'

‘What's the point?' I asked. ‘Come on, guys. Is this about the kidnapping?'

The other one played dumb and asked, ‘What kidnapping?'

‘We don't know what the fuck you're talkin' about,' the first one said. ‘This is a message.'

‘So spill it.'

‘Ya shouldn't oughtta mess with somebody's business,' he told me. ‘It ain't healthy.'

‘OK fine,' I said, ‘message received. I won't mess with anybody's business. Thanks a lot for making me aware . . .'

The two apes exchanged blank looks, then the first one said, ‘Huh-uh, that ain't no good, mister. We gotta hurt ya.'

‘I don't think you do,' I argued, wondering where the hell the goddamned FBI man was. ‘I'm pretty sure I got the message.'

‘Naw, we gotta hurt ya some,' the second one said. ‘That's what we was told.'

‘Otherwise,' the first one said, ‘what kinda fun is it?'

‘Are you sure you got the right guy?'

‘Eddie G., right?' the first one said. ‘From the Sands?' Before I could deny that it was me he said, ‘Yeah, we got the right guy.'

‘Now look,' I said, holding up my hands, ‘I know you've got to make a living, but—'

They advanced on me and the first one said, ‘Just take it easy.'

The other one grinned and said, ‘It's only gonna hurt for about a week.'

There was some daylight between them so I tried to split them and get through, but they grabbed me, threw me against the wall again, only this time harder. The back of my head bounced off the brick and one of them caught me in the gut with a ham-sized fist.

I doubled over, trying to catch my breath, but I knew that wasn't a good posture to be in. I straightened just as one of them launched a haymaker that would have taken my head off if I hadn't dodged it. His fist struck the wall and I heard bones break – lots of 'em, I hoped. He screamed, and they both backed for a minute. That's when I heard somebody yell, ‘Hey, hold it!'

The three of us looked up toward the street, the first one cradling his damaged hand.

‘FBI!' the guy yelled, and started running towards us,

They took off. The alley cut all the way through to 3rd Street, and they moved pretty quick for big guys.

By the time the FBI guy reached me I had my hands on my knees, bent over, still trying to catch my breath. I was also light headed from having my head slammed against the wall.

‘You OK?' he asked, putting his hand on my back.

‘I'm . . . I'm . . . I—'

‘Yeah, OK,' he said, ‘take it easy. Maybe I should go after the—'

I grabbed his arm and shook my head violently, then lost my spaghetti and meatball lunch all over the alley.

‘
S
o they said nothing about the kidnapping?' the DA asked.

‘No,' I said, still rubbing my stomach, ‘nothing.'

We were in my room and I was sitting on the bed. Raggio, Rudin and the FBI agent who had saved me were there, along with Jilly Rizzo and Jack Entratter. Up to that point we had not told Frank what happened.

There was also the hotel doctor in the room, cleaning the gash on the back of my head.

‘It won't need stitches,' he said. ‘I could shave the area and put a bandage—'